This was later, when Larry was getting better, and when his aunt had
begun to find the daily drive to Cluhir something of a strain. It was
not until he was practically convalescent that he was permitted to
receive other visitors. Even the daughter of the house, and that
unknown son, into whose bedroom he had been thrust, were, for him,
beneath the surface, and their presence only inferential. Barty was
domiciled at a friend's, and Miss Tishy held aloof, the hushed voices,
and general restraint imposed by illness, being not at all to her
taste. Lady Isabel came once, with his aunt, and Christian crept shyly
in behind them. Christian was wont to be silent in the presence of her
elders. That great and admirable maxim, once widely instilled into the
young, whose purport is that children should seldom be seen and never
heard, had early been accepted by Christian, without resentment, even,
as she grew older, with gratitude. Having diffidently taken Larry's
listless and pallid paw, she had slipped into the background, and
waited silently, while her eager brain absorbed and stored every
detail for future meditation. Long after Larry had lightly forgotten
all save the large facts of his illness and incarceration, Christian
could describe the Pope, whose highly-coloured presentment beatified
(rather than beautified) the wall over Larry's bed, and could imitate,
with the accuracy of a phonograph, the voice of Mrs. Mangan, as she
issued her opinions on the state of the weather to her distinguished
visitors.




CHAPTER X